


The Hunter Upon The Throne

by A_Boy_Named_Mike



Series: MadaTobi Week [19]
Category: Naruto, The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 07:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20206339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Boy_Named_Mike/pseuds/A_Boy_Named_Mike
Summary: Prompt:Fantasy and creatures(fromMadaTobi Week 2019).





	The Hunter Upon The Throne

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _Fantasy and creatures_ (from **[MadaTobi Week 2019](https://madatobiweek.tumblr.com/post/182718063236/madatobi-week-2019)**).

When first they meet, Madara is a broken thing.

He sits as one condemned, upon the floor of the cavern where those given to the Hunt are Turned, shackles of cold iron around his ankles and wrists.

Tobirama looks upon him with pity. For here is a Prince of Unseelie, whose only crime was to be born.

He presses the cup to Madara's lips. The prince turns his head.

Tobirama's gaze sharpens. Madara is bones and stubbornness. Helplessly bound and still he rebels. Tobirama feels a spark of intrigue ignite within him.

He grabs Madara by the jaw and forces him to drink. Blood and water. Madara swallows. He does not gag. Liquid trails from the corner of his mouth, down his chin. His right eye turns from black to silver.

The chains fall away.

"You are of the Hunt now," Tobirama says. His voice is a grim echo amid water and stone. "Rise and join us."

Madara does. His eyes meet Tobirama's and they do not stray.

  


* * *

  


There are screams upon the air. Screams of the dying.

Tobirama beholds his riders amid the dead, divesting them of their treasures. How perverse, he thinks, that he should pay tribute to the very King who gave away his youngest son as if he were no more than a plaything.

He looks at Madara, upon the dark steed Tobirama had given him, pale and expressionless as the dead themselves.

Tobirama feels a surge of protectiveness. And with it, anger.

It is the first time he decides to keep the treasures for himself.

  


* * *

  


Madara is a piece of a puzzle that would never fit.

Tobirama knows this to be true, for Madara has always been unwanted in the Court and remains unwanted in the Hunt.

But _Tobirama_ wants him.

He looks upon Madara and finds himself fascinated.

Madara is a strange thing, arrogant amid disgrace, curtaining his uncertainty behind a mask of unflappability, the way he hides his silver eye beneath the cover of his dark hair.

But his other eye — there is so much truth in it.

When their gazes meet, Tobirama sees all the things Madara tries to conceal.

His vulnerability. His pain. Rage. Fear. His confusion and desire.

Desire that — Tobirama is certain — mirrors his own.

  


* * *

  


Within the cavern where they first met, within the pool amid the rocks, Tobirama takes.

His are hands avariciously wandering, along Madara's face, his neck, his shoulders, his flanks. Tobirama's hands upon the prince's slender hips. He pulls him close, presses Madara flush against him, presses his mouth against Madara's own.

Madara keens. His cry echoes off the cavern walls.

What would the King think, Tobirama wonders, if he knew his son was being debauched so close to the Unseelie Court?

The thought of discovery is thrilling. Tobirama feels himself grow harder still.

Madara is beautiful, flushed and desperate in Tobirama's arms. His touches are needy, urgent. They are fingers curled in Tobirama's hair, hands clasped upon his nape. His mouth is a decadent thing. It parts willingly, gracefully, allowing Tobirama the sweet taste of him. Cries spill forth from his lips.

Tobirama recalls those lips wet with water and blood. _Tobirama's_ blood.

He slides his hands from Madara's hips to his ass. Trails a lone finger along the cleft of it. Slips between his cheeks, caressing.

Madara gasps sharply. He bucks against Tobirama. _"More,"_ he says, and it is enough to break what little control Tobirama has left.

He backs Madara up against the edge of the pool till he is half lying upon the cavern floor. His finger inside him, still. He works Madara open.

What a sight this is. Madara's hair splayed out beneath him. The bow of his lips, parted around licentious moans. The rapid rise and fall of his chest. His nipples, hard and lovely.

His legs, parted. Tobirama watches the way his finger disappears inside Madara, feels the silky heat tighten around him.

_Beautiful,_ indeed.

"More," Madara says again and Tobirama obliges. He withdraws his hand. Presses his cock to Madara's hole instead.

Tobirama fills him and Madara is a writhing, gasping thing amid earth and moss, water and stone. His legs come to curl around Tobirama's waist. His fingers claw the cavern floor.

They set a violent rhythm. Tobirama fucks Madara hard, in the place he'd been broken and made anew. Madara is so hot, so gloriously tight around him. His cock is a pretty thing, hard and wet and begging to be touched.

Tobirama _does._ His fingers come to curl around Madara's shaft. His strokes are rough. Madara cries out and bucks into his palm. Oh what sounds he makes.

Tobirama's pace quickens. Splash of water. Flesh against flesh. Madara's moans are staccatos to Tobirama's breaths, his rapid fire heartbeat.

He kisses Madara and it is a ravenous thing. Madara is warm and tight and oh so beautiful. Tobirama wants to devour him till there is nothing left but the truth of his heart.

_"Tobirama,"_ Madara moans and it is the sweetest sound in all the world.

He comes, his breath a sharp exhalation between them.

And Madara cries out, his cock wet and sticky within Tobirama's grasp, _himself_ vise-tight around Tobirama's cock.

  


* * *

  


They ride amid the stars.

Over Seelie lands and Bram's Crossroads, the cavern and the Unseelie Court.

_One day, this will all be yours._

Tobirama thinks this, though he says nothing of it aloud.

Madara is yet a boy untrained, unprepared for the trials that await. Tobirama knows that Madara does not — would never — wish to be King.

But he will.

Tobirama would make certain of it. He would have one of his Hunt upon the Unseelie throne. Would have _Madara._

And when Madara is King, Tobirama would kneel before him and pay tribute. Would bestow upon him gifts of the dead.

He would bow his head and Madara would bid him rise. The boy would look upon him with a face impassive where his eyes are not.

And when their gazes meet, they would _know._

That this dance is nothing more than a farce.

For Madara would sit upon the throne, a prisoner in his lonely tower. And in his chambers, _he_ would be the one to kneel.

And Tobirama would have him.

His Hunter upon the throne.

For now, he gifts Madara Windspear. They ride through the clouds and watch the world fall away beneath them like shadows.


End file.
